


Phobia

by RosiePaw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw





	Phobia

"Establishing trade relationships with the Bashani would have many benefits," Teyla continued. "They have a relatively high level of technology as well as access to rich natural resources, including agricultural products and metallic ores. However, there are also complications."

"It’s someone else’s turn to suffer through the weird alien trading ritual!"

"The Bashani do not have a trading ritual, Rodney. But they do have certain requirements," Teyla explained patiently. "Their dislike of off-worlders is extreme, approaching hatred. Historically, they conducted periodic hunts for off-worlders throughout their cities and towns. The authorities expelled any person suspected of off-world origin into the planet’s unsettled areas – if this person had not already been stoned or beaten to death."

"Lovely people," mumbled McKay around a spoonful of pudding. Sheppard listened with half an ear as he scanned the mess hall. Drs. Hauptmann and Poirier were just coming off the line with their trays, heads bent together as they spoke quietly. The two men found an empty table, Hauptmann casually pulling out a chair to seat Poirier before sitting down himself.

Sheppard glanced at the table of Marines sitting nearby. Periodically, he and Lorne still found themselves having to give The Talk, the one in which they reminded the Marines that Atlantis was ultimately under civilian command, that civilians were _not_ required to operate under the U.S. Uniform Code, and that anyone who had a problem with this situation could just suck it up until they had a chance to transfer back to Earth.

This particular bunch of Marines didn’t seem about to cause any trouble, however. Sheppard looked back at his team-mates and noticed that McKay too appeared to be watching Hauptmann and Poirier as Teyla spoke.

"Within the last generation, however, the Bashani have made some changes. They will now deal with off-worlders, but only with those who are willing to defer to Bashani sensibilities by pretending to _be_ Bashani. Off-worlders must wear Bashani clothing and follow all Bashani customs. They must not mention or hint at their off-world origin in any way. Any errors, however inadvertent, are considered to be an open admission. And any admission will lead to…"

"Let me guess – stoning, beating, expulsion." McKay was paying attention again.

"You are correct, Rodney. None of the Bashani would ever openly ask someone if they are from off-world. However, if a Bashan even suspects such a thing they will find other reasons not to deal with that person. Once rumour circulates the suspicion, even if it is false, the person suspected will effectively be cut out of the trading system."

"Xenophobes."

"I am sorry, Rodney?"

"Xenophobia. Hatred of strangers for nothing more than being strangers. Old rules, new rules, it doesn’t matter. The rules are still based on xenophobia."

"You are correct. The Bashani appear to be attempting to attract more off-world trade but without doing anything to address the underlying cultural beliefs that hamper such trade."

"They sound pretty stupid to me," growled Ronon, "Why would we bother trying to follow their rules?"

McKay jumped in before Teyla could reply. "Yes, why would we? I’d like to hear Colonel Sheppard’s response to that."

Sheppard looked up from his own pudding cup, startled by the anger in McKay’s voice.

"Yes, you, Colonel. Answer Ronon’s question. Why would we bother trying to follow stupid rules set by a culture that hates us because we’re not them? Why would we work so hard to make it easy for them by pretending to _be_ them? Why would we take all the risk of failure on ourselves, as if we’re the irrational ones, the _wrong_ ones? As if we’re accepting that they’re right?"

"McKay, what…"

McKay rode right over Sheppard. "You’re the expert, Colonel, you have _years_ of experience in dealing with this sort of situation. We’re all waiting to hear what you have to say!"

"What the _hell_, McKay?" Sheppard snapped, his own patience at an end. "What are you talking ab-"

But McKay was tapping his earpiece. "McKay here… He did what? Who gave that idiot access to… NO! Don’t touch anything, I’ll be right there!"

Jacket in one hand, laptop tucked under the other arm, McKay was gone. Sheppard watched him go, then grabbed McKay’s abandoned supper tray to turn in with his own.

***

John was not surprised that Rodney didn’t stumble back to his quarters until dark’o’clock in the morning.

Rodney was not surprised to find John waiting for him. He parked his laptop on the desk, then slumped down to sit on the bed, elbows on knees, rubbing his tired eyes. The set of his shoulders and neck betrayed tense muscles. John’s hands itched to rub, to soothe the tension out, but he held himself where he was, watching from the other side of the room.

"Everything okay? You fixed the whatever-it-was-this-time?"

"Yeah. We’re okay until the next idiot touches something he shouldn’t, which I really hope won’t be before 0900 tomor- uh, 0900 today."

John took a breath – time wasn’t going to make this discussion easier. "Rodney, what was that about in the mess hall earlier? And don’t try telling me it was about the Bashani."

Rodney’s tired gaze met John’s directly.

"I’m sorry, John. What I said – you didn’t deserve that. It’s just that sometimes… Most of the time it’s fine, it’s just one more thing to deal with. A relatively minor thing to deal with, compared to space vampires and everything else this galaxy throws at us. Not even worth complaining about, really."

"Rodney, to you _everything’s_ worth complaining about," John pointed out as he crossed the room and sat down on the bed, started rubbing the back of Rodney’s neck with knowledgeable, familiar hands.

"Maybe I feel I have to complain for two? Mmmm, that’s nice."

"So most of the time it’s fine," prompted John, hands still in motion.

"And every now and then, it’s not fine at all. There are moments when I feel like an animal with its leg caught in a trap. And I know that chewing through the leg will be excruciating and messy and if I don’t die immediately from blood loss, I’ll die eventually _anyway_ when the wound gets infected or when I starve to death because I can no longer fend for myself without the missing limb. But in those moments, it almost feels worth it, because whatever I lose, whatever happens afterwards, at least I won’t be _caught_ anymore in the goddamn _trap_, _we_ won’t be caught anymore, even if there is no ‘we’ because I _lose_ you, and I don’t think I’d survive that…"

John had his arms around Rodney by then, holding him close, murmuring, "Shh, shh," into his neck, trying to comfort them both. He had his own moments, moments when he didn’t know how he held himself back from doing crazy things. He had dreams of just standing up on a table in the mess hall, making an announcement and getting it all _over_ with.

But for now he held his lover and thought that some day, something had to change.


End file.
